


Hands as Blades

by GoforthAndConquer



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, BAMF Allison, BAMF Stiles, Character Study, F/M, Forgiveness, Gen, Implied Violence, Introspection, M/M, Post Season/Series 02, Pre-Canon, Revenge, Time Skips, implied stiles/derek, sterek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-01
Updated: 2013-04-01
Packaged: 2017-12-07 03:52:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/743890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoforthAndConquer/pseuds/GoforthAndConquer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She is a hunter.<br/>She has always known.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hands as Blades

She is a hunter.

She has always known.

(And so, she burns.)

*****

She remembered herself as a child, clumsy with pink ribbons in the darkness of her hair. Her parents had loved finding her new things to do, enrolling her in karate and gymnastics and soccer, but it was only when she begged that they had put her in ballet.

She hadn’t been very good (her grace was meant for other things). But, she had loved the sparkles and the tulle and how her pale-pink slippers had fit her tiny feet perfectly. She remembered her first recital, spinning circles to _Lara’s Theme_ in a periwinkle tutu, and how she had smiled the brightest in the warm circle of the stage lights.

Her father’s mantel, while full of her karate trophies and gymnastics medals, never kept photos of her ballet recital. Her mother would smile and say it slipped their mind.

She quit soon after.

*****

She had idolized her Aunt Kate.

Kate was all smiles and sass, a cocked hip and honey-brown ringlets. Kate had a closet full of flowery sundresses and leather jackets. She would take Allison in her convertible, rolling the windows down and cranking up Cyndi Lauper on full blast. Her father had hated the car ( _impractical_ , he would say), and she loved it even more for it. She would swing her feet in the huge expanse of the back seat, singing along to _Girls Just Wanna Have Fun_ and Aunt Kate would wave at the cars she passed by like a pageant queen.

When she visited, Kate would let her stay up to nearly eleven at night, surrounding by candy and PG-13 movies that her parents never let her watch. She would clutch her knees to her chest, peeking from between her fingers as Carrie, covered in pig’s blood, burned her school gym to the ground. Kate would break her hypnotic trance with a pinch of her cheek.

“Don’t worry, Ally baby, it’s all make-believe.”

Kate never lied to her.

When Allison was eleven, she had gone back to that little town Aunt Kate was living in to visit for the summer. Four glorious weeks without her gym coaches shouting Russian in her ear or perfecting her shotokan techniques or Dacron strings plucking her fingers. She could spend her time shopping and listening to the new Cascada album and pretending that she was happy about the curves intruding on her body.

Kate took her to the local pool, where Allison had worn her first bikini (turquoise stripes with bows on the square of her hips). The sun had been warm and butter-smooth on her still-pale skin. She was too shy to talk to anyone there, who stared at her like she was an alien invasion.

“They don’t get many newcomers here,” Kate explained, slicking her shoulders with sunscreen. “And, you’re too pretty not to notice.”

She wasn’t so sure. She saw how their eyes lingered on Aunt Kate, bronze and curvy and woman, and Allison was happy to look away.

They were leaving, towels wrapped around them, when a boy had nearly run them over. He had dark hair and big eyes and he looked at Kate like she owned him.

“S-s-sorry,” he muttered. His cheeks were splotched with pink.

Kate smiled. “No problem at all, sugar. Run into me anytime.”

“Th-the thing is... I mean, what I... Kate - ”

“See ya later.”

They had walked away then. Allison looked over her shoulder, just for a moment. The boy was staring, eyes startling blue for a moment, like a bright flash of chlorinated water or the salt of tears.

Allison faced forward. “Who was that?”

Kate shrugged. “Some local kid. Who knows. Wanna get some ice cream?”

Aunt Kate had never lied to her. But, she left Beacon Hills soon after and never asked Allison to visit again.

*****

One time, she mentioned at her newest school (Turner Field? Or had it been Dryster County?) that she took archery. The kids at the lunch table had stared at her, the newest specimen beneath the lens.

“What, like Katniss Everdeen?”

Snickers around the table.

“I volunteer!”

Outright laughter.

“This isn’t medieval times, new girl. Try getting an iPhone and then we’ll talk.”

She never mentioned the archery again.

*****

She and her father didn’t talk anymore. There was too much to say that wasn’t tinged with ashes or soaked in blood. Words that caught like gristle in her teeth.

It was only after the Alpha pack that he allowed Scott over at the house again. Only after Scott had his gut ripped open by the twins and still stood to defend the broken Argent, hands coated in his own viscera as his body desperately tried to heal itself.

“I won’t let you hurt him.”

Scott nearly died, but not before tearing out Kali’s throat, the blood smearing his face the same color as his eyes. He had remained still long enough to let the Alpha power course through him, stitching up his flesh to keep his organs in, before reaching down to her father.

“You okay?”

Instead of speaking, the Hunter had taken the hand offered.

Days later, after the pack had healed and the last of the Alpha pack had run out of Beacon Hills, her father invited Scott to dinner and remained silent all the way through dessert before going to bed. Allison still didn’t know how to say thank you.

Her words keep getting stuck between the memories that they both carried.

*****

She had her first crush in seventh grade. His name was Michael Vermeer and he was her desk partner in math. He helped her with FOIL and liked _The Giver_. He had black glasses and the whitest teeth she had ever seen.

They held hands outside of class and went to the school track events together. Sometimes, a whole group of them would get together at the mall and just wander around for hours. Michael would buy her Cinnabons and dot her nose with frosting.

“Oh, for cute!” He exclaimed. “Sweet as sugar, that’s my Ally.”

When Michael found out she did karate, he challenged her to a bout. She had been wearing leggings and a floral skirt and it had only taken two minutes to flip him onto his back.

He wheezed from his place on the floor, looking up at her with wide eyes behind his glasses.

“Geez, Ally,” he managed. “Don’t be so fucking rough.”

He had never cursed at her before and she hadn’t known what to say, just offered him a hand. He brushed it away, picking himself off the floor.

They broke up a week later and she hated being called Ally ever since.

*****

She’s a hunter. She’s never been anything else.

She sings with a bow in her hand. She dances with a knife in her boot. The poetry of her fists are worth all the tears she refuses to shed.

(Her mother never wanted her tears anyway.)

On the back of the ATV, tearing through the darkened woods, she would like to say that she is frightened. She knows she should be. There are things in the dark, things that she knows all too well now. There are teeth and claws and eyes that shine like the full-bellied moon. Death has made its way to her doorstep and has no intention of leaving. She should be afraid.

She would like to say that she is conflicted. She knows Scott would want to hear her doubt what she is about to do, worry whether this is the right thing. Scott, with his too-large heart and his undying belief that everything can be fixed (it can’t). She knows that wolves aren’t always guilty, like humans aren’t always innocent. She should be torn.

She would like to say she feels compassion for the blonde girl she is chasing, who came out of the shadows into full vibrant color. Who accepted a bite to break the chains of disease. Who laughs so loudly that everyone can hear.

She would like to say she feels pity for the boy determined to protect her, who had no family so fought to find his own. Who accepted strength to forge even stronger bonds. Who smiles silent as he guards your back.

She would like to say she is sorry.

She nocks another arrow. She is none of these things.

*****

She asked for a dog once.

“Absolutely not,” her father insisted. He smelled of oil and rust. “We simply don’t have the time to take care of a pet. We’ve talked about this before ,and the answer hasn’t changed.”

“But, Daddy!”

“Allison.” Her mother had a voice like a knife.

“It’s not fair!”

“Life isn’t fair,” her father replied.

“I would take care of it!” She insisted. She wrung the bottom of her sweater like a dishrag. “I would feed him and walk him and buy him toys - I’ll look after him, I promise I will!”

Her parents exchanged a look. They turn back to her and their answer is in their eyes.

“We’re sorry, Ally.”

“Don’t call me Ally.”

*****

Scott was sitting against her backboard, his knees brushing hers. They were watching something on her computer (she can’t even remember now). She hadn’t even noticed how he was gently plaiting her hair until another thin braid fell against her cheek.

“What are you doing?” She asked.

He smiled at her. “Keeping busy.”

“Is the show not entertaining enough?”

“It just still amazes me, that’s all.”

His fingers brushed her ear and she shivered.

“What amazes you?”

Scott tilted his head, eyes flashing gold, and he had never been so human. “That you let me look at you at all.”

*****

She’s a hunter. Stiles isn’t.

She and Stiles will never be friends. There was too much there already, things that she couldn’t erase and that he wouldn’t forget. Even as time passed, even as trust slowly began to rebuild, she would catch Stiles looking at her out of the corner of her eyes. She wondered what he saw. Was it the knives dancing bright in her hands or the fire that had burned where her heart should have been?

(Maybe that was the curse of Beacon Hills. Eventually, everything burns.)

One time, after a particularly messy encounter with a wendigo, they had all gone to the 24-hour diner and eaten burgers and fries with dirty fingers and blood still smeared on their cheeks. Stiles had insisted to the waitress that they were filming a horror movie. She didn’t seem convinced.

It was nice to pretend that the blood wasn’t real and, more importantly, wasn’t theirs.

“Could we have wizards next?” Stiles asked. “I mean, like straight-up wizards with robes and Quidditch and the whole thing. I’m tired of every supernatural encounter ending up with something trying to eat us.”

“Pretty sure that’s just you,” Derek sniped. He was sitting next to Stiles at the end of the booth and looking like he desperately wanted to be somewhere else. Their legs were pressed together and Allison pretended, like everyone else, that they didn’t see it.

“Can’t help that I’m a tasty morsel,” Stiles grinned.

“You wish,” Erica snarked. Boyd just shook his head and kept eating his fries.

“I’m going to go out on a limb here, but I’m pretty sure wizards aren’t real,” Lydia scoffed, sipping on her milkshake.

Stiles gave her a look. “Lydia. One word. Werewolves.”

She rolled her eyes at him.

“Wizards would be cool,” Scott chimed in. “I’ve always wanted to go to Hogwarts.”

“What kid doesn’t?” Isaac insisted, nudging Scott with his shoulder. “I’m still waiting to be sorted properly.”

Stiles snapped his fingers. “Alright, guys. New game. What House would we be in? Go.”

Scott wrinkled his face before grinning. “I wanna be Hufflepuff.”

Allison couldn’t stop the surprise. “Really? I thought Gryffindor for sure.”

“Yeah, I like them too,” Scott agreed. “But, Hufflepuff is more than just dumb bravery, you know? They’re brave because they care about people. That’s what I want to be.”

“Jesus, Scott,” Stiles sighed. “You couldn’t be more heroic if you tried. You put Captain America to shame.”

“Can we finish the current nerd rant before starting a new one?” Lydia interrupted. No one objected. “Anyway, I’m totally a Ravenclaw. Like that was even a question.”

Erica leaned forward. “Slytherin. Because of reasons.”

Isaac nodded. “Me too. They get a bad rap, but they’re just misunderstood.”

“Just a question,” Stiles interjected, “but is anyone surprised that the evil twins are Slytherins?”

No one raised their hands. Isaac and Erica smirked at each other.

“No? Okay, moving on. Allison?”

“Umm.” She thought for a moment. “Probably Gryffindor.”

Scott kissed her on the cheek as if it was a reward. She wasn’t sure for what, but it lit her up just the same. She kissed him back.

Boyd said, “Hufflepuff,” before going back to his cheese fries.

“Well,” Stiles mused, “Derek’s a Slytherin, for sure. Aren’t you, Der?”

“Don’t call me Der.”

“Cujo? Lassie? Jojo the Dog-Faced Boy?”

“I will murder you.”

“You don’t even try to not be creepy anymore.”

Allison laughed with the others, because it was easier than looking at Stiles and Derek. It felt like intruding, and she didn’t want to think about what it meant. Not yet. “What about you, Stiles?”

Before Stiles could reply, Lydia jumped in. “Definitely Ravenclaw. He is the Willow to my Cordelia.”

“Hey!” Stiles objected, and the table was laughing again.

Lydia was wrong though. Allison knew. Stiles may be smart and he may be loyal and he may be ambitious. But, more than anything, he is brave. In a way that she would never know.

Because, Stiles wasn’t a hunter. Stiles was a killer.

Stiles, armed with nothing but cleverness and sarcasm and a baseball bat carved of mountain ash, knew fear. He didn’t chase it away, didn’t hunt it down for the slaughter. He owned it, wore it around him in shades of red. A calling card. A challenge.

He didn’t hunt for prey. He allowed himself to be hunted. Never pretended to be a predator, just ran with them like pack. And, he was, in ways that Allison would never be. She was constantly cleaning the gunpowder from under her nails, and Stiles traced triskele patterns on the inside of his palm when no one was looking.

She’s a hunter. Stiles isn’t. But, she knew, out of the two of them, which one was more dangerous.

*****

When she was eleven, she had tried painting.

When she was thirteen, she had tried poetry.

When she was fifteen, she had tried photography.

Nothing, no pen or paintbrush or camera, had ever felt right. The only thing that fit her hands were sharp-edged and meant for blood.

She kept everything in a box and pretended that she was a girl for a little while longer.

*****

She hadn’t known fire until her mother died.

Her ribs had charred, chest screaming with heat. Embers seared the fleshy-pink of her insides until she felt her skin threaten to crumble to ash. Hatred like fire licked through her veins, filling her up until all she could smell was smoke (she wondered if that’s why Kate always wore perfume).

There was nothing in the world that she wanted more than to see Derek burn.

She wanted to taste the burnt-meat smell of his skin flaying back, see his bones crackle and calcine and the red of his Alpha eyes shrivel in the face of her fire. She wanted to see the last of the Hales succumb to their curse, written in lighter fluid and matches and signed in Kate’s hand six years ago.

She wanted the fire to burn out her eyes, so the last thing she saw was the face that killed her mother.

(Because, if she closed her eyes, all she could see was what her mind conjured of Scott, writhing on a table in an abandoned room, breathing in poison for loving a Hunter’s daughter. And, if she lingered too long, she would never become the Hunter her mother had always wanted.)

She opened her eyes. She lit the match.

*****

“I’m sorry.”

Scott turns, as if he hasn’t heard her right, but Allison knows he heard and says nothing else. A moment later, he smiles, taking her face in his hands like she was porcelain, his eyes flashing red (he knows she isn’t afraid).

“It’s okay, Ally.” His mouth whispers against hers, a benediction. “It’s okay.”

Her tears are absolution and Scott drinks them like holy water.

*****

She is a hunter.

She has always known.

(From ashes, she will rise again.)


End file.
